


Prussia's Terrible Judgment

by Tassledown



Series: Russia and Prussia [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Christianity, Chronic Fatigue, Excessive talk of Catholicism, Food, Human Names Used, M/M, PTSD, Post WWII setting, References to Illness, Smoking, Threats of Violence, Trans Character, boot fetish, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassledown/pseuds/Tassledown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lithuania needs to ask someone to check on Russia when he hasn't left his room, Prussia decides that the best way to get Russia up and about again is to start an argument with him. Of course, arguments lead to fighting, but fighting takes far more energy than Prussia has to spare.<br/>The simple alternative: sex<br/>Assuming he's willing to sleep with the mercenary of Europe, that is. But Prussia's never really been one to stop just because something is a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prussia's Terrible Judgment

**Author's Note:**

> (An edited and rewritten version of "When Prussia is not making war" including extensive character edits.)
> 
> Vague warnings for Gilbert being really kind of obnoxious about being Catholic while also being a kind of terrible Catholic. My apologies to any Catholics if I wrote it badly, I am not Catholic so I may have misrepresented some parts. Feel free to inform me of any major mistakes.
> 
> Also warning for Gilbert and Ivan having really terrible morals and a very dubious - though brief - reference to mistreatment of Hungary.
> 
> I have gotten in a habit of using the country names how they are spelled for the language the character natively speaks when writing them referring to another country in speech, so when in speech if a country name seems misspelled, it probably isn't. (Vengriya and Ungarn refer to Hungary; the others resemble the English version a bit more.)  
> If you're a native speaker of the language in question and I got one wrong, please let me know.

Dying of boredom was the last problem Gilbert had expected living in Russia's house with him and half a dozen other Nations. Admittedly he'd never been someone's vassal before; maybe this was just typical of people who weren't England, but –

This was Russia. That annoying mercenary who'd do literally anyone's work if they paid him enough. That pain in the ass he'd picked fights with over him breathing near his border. Sure, he himself had been so sick he couldn't get out of bed for much of the past year, and Russia had looked like a walking ghost around the house when he did manage to get up, but Gilbert had been mobile again for almost a month now and barely saw Russia leave his room. 

Gilbert admittedly he was getting better because he had a country again. East Germany – part of what should have stayed Ludwig's country, goddammit. Russia had smiled when he told him he even still had part of Berlin. Gilbert had lunged for Russia's throat and been shut in his room until there was a meeting to go to with England.

The look on Arthur's face had been worth it, though. Parroting the party line had been even more worth it. Not that he wanted to admit how well he knew that line – how it made him feel, which was complicated and he was much too tired for complicated right now – but he was still Prussia, or mostly Prussia, and he'd be damned before he'd give up enjoying the shock he could inspire in other countries. 

He'd been kind of giddy all the way back to the house, even if he had to lie down as soon as he got back. He'd been up and around again not long after, but it appeared Russia wasn't. Five days passed, and finally Lithuania stopped by his door and knocked. 

Gilbert looked up from his book, then stared. “What is it?”

Lithuania's hands shifted on the tray he held. “Rusija hasn't eaten anything in two days.”

“What am I supposed to do about that?”

“You're not scared of him,” Lithuania snapped. “Someone needs to check on him, and his sisters are still bedridden. You don't have to, but I can't think of anyone else to send in there.”

Gilbert bit down asking him to send Poland. He knew Poland was worse off than he was, and well, Gilbert was half the reason they were in this state to begin with. (The other half was entirely Russia's fault, thank you, but dammit he couldn't blame Russia for what his government did and leave him like that, could he?)

“Alright,” Gilbert said. “I'll go check on him.”

“Good. We're going out to get groceries, please don't destroy the house.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but he put down his book and hauled himself out of bed. He was not dizzy getting up, thank you very much, he just leaned on the doorframe to check Lithuania had retreated downstairs before he went down the hallway and knocked on Russia's door. He waited for a reply before going in.

Just because the reply was “Please go away,” didn't mean he was being rude.

“I said go away – ah,” Russia stopped, leaning half on the back of his chair. “It's you.”

“Yep.” Gilbert shut the door behind himself and want over to the bookcase by his desk to lean on, crossing his arms. “Did you know it's been five days?”

Russia tightened his grip on his pen, glaring up at him. He had out paperwork on his desk, likely delivered by Lithuania with his food, mostly handwritten letters but a few were typed. Gilbert raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Do you even know what day it is?”

“Sunday,” Russia said coldly. “It is Sunday.”

“The church bells rang an hour ago – I didn't realize you lived near a village that stubborn, actually. Anyways, that's great and all, but I was pissing off England on Monday.”

“What I do with myself is none of your business.”

“It is when you've worried Litauen enough he comes to ask me to check if you've died and you're rotting in your bed. What did you last eat?”

“This morning.”

Gilbert stepped forward and leaned on his desk. “That would work better if you didn't have Litauen managing food for everyone, which means that if you were eating, he'd know. And you're not. Do you want to try again?”

“Get off my desk,” Russia growled.

Gilbert looked him over and curled his lip. “You couldn't even make me if you tried.”

“I do not want you meddling in my affairs.”

Gilbert groaned and ran his hand through his hair. He pushed Russia's papers over on his desk and sat himself on the edge. “They're out getting groceries, by the way. If you want to go eat.”

Russia pushed his chair back from his desk with a very suspicious stare. “What?”

“Polen and Litauen. They left with the other Baltics and went to get food. Ungarn's not due back for a check-in for another two weeks, your sisters are both still bedridden. You don't have your provinces or other regions living here, so you know, maybe you should get your embarrassment out of the way and actually fucking eat while it's just us.”

“Why do you want me to leave my room, Prussiya?”

“I thought I was your loyal Deutsche Demokratische Republik, comrade,” Gilbert drawled. 

“You are as loyal as a tiger.” Russia stood, though. 

“Yeah, well, I'm also bored. If you don't leave your room, who do I have to fight with? I could knock Polen over with a hard breath of air still.” He stood up as well and began to look over Russia's bookcases, idly at first but getting distracted rather quickly by an old leatherbound Bible.

Russia reached over his head and pushed it back into place. “Do not touch my books.”

“I didn't think you'd still have a Bible.” He had to jog a little to catch up with Russia leaving his room. 

“I do not needlessly throw away books that I own,” Russia replied. “It is only a book.”

“Bullshit,” Gilbert smiled. “You've thrown away plenty of books.”

“I did not own them.”

“So you only care about knowledge when it's your property, is that it?”

“Is this a sin, to only respect the Bible as a book I own?” Russia smiled as he said it, but Gilbert glared back.

“If you were baptized Catholic, you're still Catholic dammit.”

“Ah, yes, you and your stubbornness about that.” Russia's mouth twisted into a thin smile. “Tell me, did you ever convince anyone with this insistence, or did you put them all to the sword in the end?”

“Seriously?” Gilbert glared. “I really didn't kill anyone over unleavened-fucking-bread, I have slightly more morals than that!”

“Was it the excommunications, the question of the holy spirit, or the challenge to the pope's authority?”

“I am not discussing the justifications of the Crusades with the mercenary of Europe.”

“I thought you said you were bored.”

“Bored does not mean I want to get into ancient history just so you can say I told you so regarding the tantrum of a couple papal legates in Constantinople over whose opinion matters most.”

“And yet this was an opinion you'd go to war over?”

“Did I mention I was young and stupid?”

“Is this how you always end arguments about the Crusades?”

Gilbert made a vaguely annoyed gesture. “Is there a better answer? It was stupid. It's still part of my history as a Nation and as a Catholic. Part of yours too, dammit.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been Catholic.” Russia pushed open the kitchen door and held it for him. “I am not Christian anymore; I need nothing more than my party to make my happy and complete.”

“Yeah, and I'm a fucking pacifist. You live by a town that still actually rings church bells, Russland, whatever you might say you've definitely not severed that tie yet.”

Russia looked around the kitchen until he found what little food was left and started to pull it together to cook. “You know, I had gladly forgotten how aggravating you could be about this.”

“About what?”

“Catholicism.”

Gilbert laughed. “How the Hell did you forget that?!”

“Well, you did not exactly hold a crusade into my lands, unlike what you and Pol'sha did to Litva and to Turtsiya. And you have not been very Christian this last century.”

“If you ask the Protestants, I've been very Christian,” Gilbert drawled. “I've been downright perfectly Christian.”

“Yes. Your hobby is war, your drink is blood, and your bread is terror and violence. I remember.”

“Christ, you're depressing,” Gilbert fished in a drawer for the cigarettes and a lighter, then sat on the counter to light it. “Have you had anything to drink lately?”

“I do in fact keep vodka in my room.” Russia didn't look up from chopping. 

“Okay, do you have any other hobbies?” Gilbert exhaled happily and sighed. “I mean, if you just have drink to keep you company, you have to be damn lonely.”

“I keep the fires of revolution alive in my heart.”

“You're too old to believe in fairytales, you can't possibly convince me of that.”

“And yet you believe in God?”

“That's God.” Gilbert exhaled a stream of smoke and snorted, coughing a little. “It doesn't require me to believe in people.”

“You are Catholic.” Russia stared at him. “I believe trust in your Pope is integral to this.”

Gilbert gestured at him with his cigarette. “I have to believe in the office of the Pope. The idea of it. I don't think God is going to bother to stop us being human. We've fucked up his ideas every other time in history; why would he stop us doing it now?” Gilbert laughed. “The Pope's no more special than the rest of us. He's just something we can see and feel to believe in, to make things easier. I don't need him for that, but I'm not like other people.”

“You are a Nation, yes.”

Gilbert laughed harshly again and coughed hard. He got down from the counter to get a glass of water. He almost couldn't stop laughing long enough to drink it. Russia stared at him with a bemused twist to his face.

“What is it now?”

“Oh, c'mon.” Gilbert finally swallowed some of the water and snickered at him. “You mean you never noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Do you believe in Stalin?”

Russia's face closed off. “I believe he is doing what he thinks is right.”

Gilbert studied his face for a moment and inhaled thoughtfully around his cigarette. “You really think that, huh?”

“He is my leader.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. Government, father, family, everything. Everyone thinks we're like that.” He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and eyed it thoughtfully. “Always believing the best in people, right?”

“And you don't?”

Gilbert laughed. “You said it yourself, Russland. I know Italien. Hell, I fought in the Crusades. You see the best in people that way, you know?”

“So you do not believe?”

Gilbert turned and leaned on the counter, giving Russia a long look over. “What do you think?”

“I think you are a very strange person to speak to.”

“What, you didn't pick that up over the last few years?”

“You were rather distressed when we spoke during the war.”

Gibert snorted loudly. “Distressed, that's a word for it, yeah.”

“You claim you do not have morals, but that did not seem to be the case.”

“Do you recognize morals when you see them?” Gilbert asked dryly. “I've not found you to have all that many.”

Russia shook his head slowly. “You think I ignore people so very much?”

“I don't know what to think about you.” He shrugged and finished his cigarette, flicking it into the ashtray. 

Russia shrugged again and covered the pot on the stove. “So then why are we still talking?”

“Have I mentioned I'm bored?” Gilbert opened the drawer with the cigarettes in it again, only to have Russia push it shut on him. “Hey!”

“We do not need you building up more of a habit at the expense of the others in this house.”

“You have been hiding in your room for five days,” Gilbert snapped. “You do not get to police the house all of a sudden just because you woke up.”

“When you are living in your own home, then you can argue. We are in my home, living on my bills, are we not?”

“Because your government isn't paying us a salary, he's paying you upkeep for managing us, I get it.” Gilbert glared at him and looked around for another distraction. “What'd you make for food, anyways?”

“Olivye.”

“What?” Gilbert eyed the pot dubiously.

“It is a kind of potato... salad. I doubt you eat it much.”

Gilbert glanced up at his face. Russia was smiling slightly back at him, and Gilbert couldn't help but crack a small smile.

“Hey, you are kind of cute sometimes,” Gilbert said before he managed to think better of it.

The smile dropped off his face and Russia frowned back at him. “Excuse me?”

“When you smile when you crack a joke.” Gilbert sat himself on the counter again, debating if he could get the cigarette drawer open without him noticing or not. He doubted it – Russia was still standing right next to it. “It's cute.”

Russia frowned at him. “I am not cute.”

“I don't like handsome guys.” Gilbert shrugged. “Its cute or nothing.”

“Is that why you sleep with Avstriya?”

“No, it's because I like music and Ungarn. Trust me, you and Österreich have nothing in common.”

“I do not wish to have things in common with him.”

“You like his money at least,” Gilbert said snidely.

“Do you?”

“I used to be a monastic order,” Gilbert said dryly. “Money means nothing to me.”

“And yet you looted quite a few cities in your day.”

“Okay, that's not money, that's loot. Big difference.”

“Why would you even flirt with me?” Russia asked. “You are my vassal.”

Gilbert groaned and rolled his eyes. “Well, thank you for the reminder I'd happily forgotten it since you don't act like I'm your property 90% of the time. If it's just because you're still shell-shocked, I can't say how long me finding you attractive will last, but until then you're cute and I'm bored.” He kicked his feet into the cupboard beneath him. “Sex is a good replacement for making war.”

“I am not interested in sex.”

“I know that's not your normal stance. Why not?”

“Pol'sha and Litva have informed me I am not allowed to consider sex with them.”

“I'll bet they were telling you not to touch the other,” Gilbert grinned.

“Yes,” Russia said dryly. “I expect they told you this as well.”

Gilbert grinned. “It was kinda funny telling Litauen about it, 'cause last time Polen pulled that it was because he was taking the territory back and he'd be damned before he let me touch his conquest. I swear to God, Polen got thrown nearly twenty feet out the door...”

“Do you think sex will be good for me?”

“What, good for you how?”

“For being shell-shocked.”

“Hell if I know, but it won't be hiding in your room forgetting what day it is. I won't tell you you can't do that, I mean, if that's really what you want out of your life, but a little change of pace won't kill you. I can always proposition Polen instead.”

Russia turned to stare at him. “Clearly I must stay out of my room just so I can watch you ask him that. It would be quite the entertainment.”

“See?” Gilbert grinned. “Told ya you were missing out.”

“If I stay out of my room, will you stop butchering the Russian language like you are, or is that asking far too much of you?”

“I can talk in Latin instead,” Gilbert said. “I'd be happy to talk in Latin, I like Latin. You should see me do Latin, I've made priests cry.”

“From horror?”

“No! Goddammit, I sing! I make priests cry when I sing!”

“I expect you would be terrible.” 

His face was tucked almost into his chest, turned away so Gilbert couldn't see his expression. Gilbert sulked at him a moment, debating if he was feeling good enough to sing. He hadn't been out of bed nearly long enough, and smoking wouldn't have done him any favours.

“I assure you, I am very good at singing.” Gilbert kicked the cupboard harder with his feet. “I sing better than most opera singers. I can fill a cathedral.”

“You are very humble about it, I can tell.”

“God gives people talents for a reason, you're not supposed to hide them.”

Russia gave him a curious look as well. “You do not sound entirely happy.”

Gilbert flushed and ducked his head. He forced his feet still and pushed off the counter, stretching towards the ceiling. “Well, it gets a little awkward when people hear me talk and see me fight and then hear a pure soprano when I'm singing. It doesn't exactly suit the look.”

“Soprano?” Russia turned to stare at him, twisted back to check on the pot immediately after and continued asking, “That must take work. Why would you do that?”

“It doesn't.” Gilbert leaned on the back of a chair, thinking he was a fool but dammit, he was bored. “I'm naturally a soprano. You know, the usual result of being physically female?”

Russia turned to stare at him again, the pot lid forgotten in his hand. “What?”

Gilbert waved sarcastically at him. “Yes?”

“You're like Vengriya then?”

Gilbert scowled. “When did you see her naked?”

“I did retrieve her for Avstriya's empire. There were accidents.”

Gilbert went very still. “Accidents?”

Russia put the pot lid back down and turned to cross his arms over his chest. “No, I did not rape her, if that is what you're asking.”

“There's not a lot of accidents that result in seeing someone naked against their will.”

“And yet, you have been in war. You know such things do exist and they happen. If you wish to verify her opinion of the events, you are of course welcome to speak to her when she comes back.”

Gilbert fought down a snarl. He knew Russia wasn't a kind man. He wasn't even remotely nice. He didn't have morals. Sometimes, though, Gilbert really wished he had better friends.

“Did this ruin your mood?”

“No,” Gilbert growled back. “I already knew you were an asshole.”

“Yes. You know this very well. I don't see why you are so surprised.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I know. At least the food will be something new. Did you make enough for two?”

“I did.” frowned. “Something new?”

Gilbert turned to lean back on the table on both hands. “Yeah, something new. Litauen's cooked the same dish every day, you know. Says it makes shopping easier and helps him figure out when we're all feeling better.”

“Ah. Waiting for when you complain?”

“Yeah. I've been cooking for myself at least once a day, personally. I think he's just being lazy, but I can't blame him, I mean, he's got you and me and your sisters and his brothers and Polen to cook for and all.”

Russia nodded and checked the kitchen again, pulling out a soup to serve into two bowls. When he pulled the vegetables out of the pot and began to chop them up, Gilbert joined him so the chore would be done sooner. He scraped the food off the board into the bowl and caught Russia staring at him with a considering look. Gilbert smiled cautiously back and went back to chopping, knowing his body language had changed to reflect appreciation of the attention and feeling uncertain about it.

He was absolutely certain this was a bad idea.

He'd never really let something being a bad idea stop him before.

“What is bothering you?” Russia asked. He took his own plate and bowl to the table and Gilbert gathered up his own and followed him. He didn't answer the question, and Russia didn't repeat it until they'd both sat down and started eating.

“Prussiya, what is on your mind?”

“I'm not Preußen,” Gilbert said, feeling stiff. “Stop calling me that.”

“It is rather long to call you Deutsche Demokratische Republik.”

“DDR. I'm the DDR.” He rubbed at his face. “I'm fine.”

“Something is still bothering you. You look...” Russia frowned deeply again. “Sad.”

“I'm not sad.” Gilbert glowered back.

“Perhaps I chose the wrong word.”

“That would work better if we were not speaking Russian.”

“Not everyone considers impromptu speeches on the battlefield or arguments in the church an art,” Russia said tersely back. “I do not have a way with words, and I do not need to apologize for it.”

“I wasn't trying to say that,” Gilbert groaned. “Sorry.”

Russia stared at him again. 

Gilbert narrowed his eyes and scowled at him more. “Now what?”

“I did not believe you ever admitted you were wrong.”

“Oh for the love of God,” Gilbert groaned. He stopped talking and focused on his food. Russia copied his example and they were silent in the short time it took them both to finish eating. Gilbert finished first and got up and took the dishes to the sink to wash, only acknowledging Russia adding his to the water with a bare nod. 

By the time he finished, he was feeling faint enough to need the counter to brace himself on. He kept his curses behind his lips, but he could already tell he would not be doing anything else for a few hours. The thought of being stuck in his room made him sick, but sitting in the library wasn't going to cut it and laying on the floor would involve worried questions whenever someone came in, or getting stepped on if it was Poland.

“Do you need help upstairs?” Russia asked from just behind his shoulder.

Gilbert yelped and swallowed, turning to bare his teeth at Russia. “Don't fucking sneak up on me!”

Russia took a step back and visibly bit back a few responses before simply saying, “I'm sorry.”

“Sure, whatever.” Gilbert let go of the counter carefully and looked around the kitchen. Russia had put the dishes away, so there was nothing else to do downstairs. “I should go lie down, but I'm fucking fine.”

“Of course you are.” Russia said. “Do you want to be alone?”

Gilbert turned to stare at him. “What?”

“I asked do you wish to be alone in your bed.”

“I don't want you in my fucking room.”

“Would you like to be in mine?”

Gilbert reached over to brace himself on a chair and frowned at him again. “So all of a sudden I'm attractive when I'm almost fainting on you?”

Russia closed his eyes and waited a few seconds again before responding. “You have said you are bored, and I can tell you are not likely to sleep, simply that you need to lie down. I would not be averse to company, sexual or not.”

“I'm too tired for sex.”

“That is fine.”

“If you fucking touch me without my okay, I will skin you alive and stake you down outside for the crows.”

“Da, I understand.”

Gilbert sighed and shrugged roughly. He walked out of the kitchen to the stairs and then eyed the flight unhappily. Gilbert leaned on the banister and considered his options. He wasn't sure which seemed least objectionable.

“I hope you're not just giving me space in you bedroom because I'm bored,” he started.

“I am offering because I want to,” Russia said calmly. He started up the stairs and stopped a few steps up to stare down at him. “Are you alright?”

Fainting on a staircase would suck. “How better are you feeling? Because if I ask you to carry me and you faint, this is just going to suck worse.”

“I do not feel faint.” Russia came back down the stairs and crouched, picking him up without another word. Gilbert swore under his breath and wrapped his arms around his neck, burying his face in his shoulder and praying Russia didn't fall on him. 

Russia got to the top of the stairs and kept walking back to his room. Gilbert bit down the urge to tell him to put him down, to insist he could walk fine. He could, but it would be a waste of energy he might need. 

He wanted to tell himself he wouldn't need it, but he wasn't that stupid. He didn't trust Russia, and he had no reason to. This was just... an arrangement, for the time being. So he didn't do something even more stupid out of boredom.

Russia set him down on one side of his large bed, then walked around the bed to his desk by the wall. Gilbert jerked a couple pillows over to his side of the bed to prop himself up, and stared around the room. It was a huge room – definitely the master suite of the house – with carved baseboards and wall sconces and a small chandelier. The bedframe was massive dark-stained hardwood.

“How fucking rich was the noble you got this house from, anyways?” Gilbert asked. “Did the bed come with it?”

“Yes, most of the furnishings are original to the house.” Russia said. He pulled a small folding table up from the side of the desk and brought it over to set it on the bed, along with several sheets of paper and a pen. He sat down against the headboard without a complaint about the missing pillows and arranged his work on the little desk. “It has been my home for two centuries.”

Gilbert snickered, not really sure what he found funny about it. “You killed the last owner?”

“Yes.” Russia said. He didn't look up from his work.

Gilbert fell silent and closed his eyes, wishing the exhaustion would go away. He hated it so much. If he could stop being exhausted by little things like talking to Russia and washing the dishes, he could make a case for moving back to Berlin, somewhere he had more freedom, more autonomy. Probably not to his house; he hoped Ludwig was living there. It was definitely on the west side of the city, no matter how they cut it. 

Assuming his house was still standing. 

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He hadn't been back to Berlin in – was it two years now? Two years. Before the end of the war, when Russia first took him prisoner. Hadn't seen Ludwig either. 

He was not going to cry, dammit. He wouldn't. Not in Russia's room.

It took him several minutes to calm down. Russia didn't speak, didn't touch him. When he opened his eyes again – once he was sure he had his emotions under control – Russia hadn't moved from his work. 

Studying Russia's face, Gilbert frowned a bit more, although not because he was unhappy. He was kind of handsome, if looked at objectively. His face was classically masculine, with a thick neck and broad shoulders. His hair was only considered blond because it was just a shade too light to be brown, mixed with dark and light enough to look dirty whether it actually was or not. Now that he was looking at him carefully, Gilbert saw that whatever else Russia had forgotten, he had at least shaved a couple times in the last few days. However, his jaw was covered in enough stubble Gilbert immediately thought he wasn't going to let Russia offer to do oral sex on him and had to muffle a laugh at it.

Russia glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Gilbert smiled, too tired to suppress it. “Just feeling more awake now, that's all.”

“I see.” Russia put down his pen and stretched a little. “Do you read cyrillic?”

“Too tired to read.” Gilbert sighed. 

“Am I keeping you awake?”

“No, I don't want to sleep.” Gilbert rubbed at his face. “Just – reading when I'm tired gives me a headache, that's all.”

“Ah.” Russia relaxed back over his little desk and picked up his pen to continue to write. Gilbert twisted to run his foot over Russia's leg and blushed as he saw Russia had left his boots on. They were nice leather boots, ones that came up to his knees with a design pressed into the leather around the top. Gilbert considered sitting up to look at it closer, but didn't want to bother. 

They were nice to look at, though. He'd have to take another look later.

He twisted to look up at Russia's face again, enjoying the sight of him looking blank, unfocused and smooth. Gilbert didn't think it was on purpose, simply the way Russia's face went when he was working on something. He stretched and smiled, remember that was why most people thought he himself was always thinking up trouble when he relaxed – that his face relaxed into a certain expression.

Of course, sometimes he looked casually terrifying when focused, but he'd seen Russia's expression go the same way: the kind of look that spoke of their capacity for casual violence. It all depended on the situation. 

“You are staring, Prusska.” Russia said. He hadn't turned his head away from his paperwork, and continued scratching out an answer on the papers.

“What, do I look that cute like this?” Gilbert asked. He turned more onto his back and stretched a little, not entirely unhappy with the reaction he'd gotten. He didn't mind cute nicknames. 

“You look as cute as a tiger cub playing with my favourite boots.”

“Was this a common problem with your Imperial family?” Gilbert snickered, though, trying to picture Russia fighting to save his boots from a baby tiger.

“No, generally it was their dogs, but a dog usually responds more... predictably than you do.”

“Heh, true.” Gilbert laughed softly. 

“What were you thinking?”

Gilbert hummed a little under his breath, remembering his reservations and discarding them, his body warm and enjoying the attention. “That unless you shave today, I don't want you doing oral sex on me.”

Russia's cheeks coloured immediately and he closed his eyes. “Was that what was making you laugh?” He ran his hand over his jaw, however, and grimaced a little.

“Yeah. It doesn't look bad on you, I mean, I wasn't laughing because of that. You'd probably look fine in a beard.” Intensely masculine, admittedly, which would make him rather less attractive. Gilbert suspected that was why he'd never considered it with him before. Being with men who looked like totally perfect men reminded him of how much he never could be that, and it made things less fun than they would be otherwise.

“Thank you,” Russia said mildly. “Are you still thinking of having sex with me?”

“Do you not want me to?”

“It does not bother me.” Russia turned to frown at him. “I just did not expect it.”

“Not bothering you doesn't really tell me if you're actually happy with me flirting or just thinking this is better than several other things I could get up to in my spare time.”

Russia reached over and stroked Gilbert's hair back from his face. Gilbert leaned into his touch, keeping his eyes cautiously on his face.

“You are very beautiful,” Russia said, his tone careful. “I'm not sure if that is a word you don't mind or not.”

“Beautiful's fine; you get into most of the other ones and I'll hurt you. I know I'm not handsome.”

“Not like this; when you're on the battlefield, though, you can be.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at him. “You noticed?”

“I am not quite as distracted as you are by bloodshed.” Russia raised an eyebrow back. “Of course I noticed you.”

“I meant you thought about sex and me while we were fighting? Because I never got that impression from you.”

“Not while we fought. After. When I think back to it, like now, it is more what I think. I preferred to focus on staying alive when it was you and me on the field.”

Gilbert tried not to blush, because he was really quite certain Russia was not meaning that to be a compliment in itself, but his body took it that way. He swallowed and closed his eyes, leaning into Russia's hand as he stroked down his face.

“Are you just doing this to replace violence with sex?” Russia asked.

“Not... not entirely.” Gilbert sighed. “It's not always the same thing, or interchangeable – fighting and sex. Sometimes it is, though.”

“So this is not taming you.”

Gilbert opened his eyes and caught him with a glare. “I'm not here to be tamed.”

Russia dug his fingers into his hair and smiled back. “I did not think so.”

Gilbert's eyes fluttered a little shut at the grip and he swallowed as Russia stroked his hand down his neck to his shoulder and down to his chest.

Gilbert turned flat onto his stomach as he neared his binder and hissed a little. “Don't.”

Russia pulled his hand back. “What?”

“Not my chest. I just – doesn't matter if you touch me anywhere else. But not there.”

“I see.” Russia stroked his shoulder lightly. “But this is fine?”

Gilbert relaxed as he didn't argue. “Yeah. Everywhere else is fine.”

“Do you only want anal sex?”

Gilbert snorted and shivered as Russia's hand traced the line of his spine through his shirt. “Nah, I like sex. I might as well use it for the fun stuff.”

“Do you object to condoms, or do you prefer to get pregnant?” Russia's tone was disdainful on the last part, which Gilbert couldn't blame him for after their last argument about Catholicism and it's sometimes stupid opinions on things. He still rolled his eyes at it.

“I'm not the kind of Catholic to tell people not to use condoms if they want to. I don't want you getting me pregnant if you don't want to so, if you want the condom, use it.”

Russia blinked at him a few times. “...but you don't mind if you do get pregnant?”

“Are you planning to get me pregnant?” Gilbert said dryly.

“I don't believe the DDR is doing well enough for you to.”

Gilbert groaned and covered his face. “God, will you pick one and decide or are you going to argue this until Litauen and Polen get home in six hours?”

Russia got up and carried the little desk over to his own and balanced it there. He came back over and pulled a condom and lube out of the side table before stroking Gilbert's back once more. 

“So you still want to have sex?” Russia asked.

“Yes?” Gilbert said. 

He smiled up at him and then made a startled noise when Russia simply pulled his shirt over his head. Russia paused before pulling his undershirt off. “What is it?”

“You just surprised me, that's all.” Gilbert sat up and pulled his own shirt off, quickly untying the binder he was using – a short lace-up type similar to a corset he'd used for centuries now – and pulled that over his head as well. Russia began to undo Gilbert's pants, and Gilbert pushed the pillows out of the way so he could lay down properly, his heart racing in his chest. Russia smiled slightly at him and bent to kiss his ribs, his stubble scraping on his skin and sending him into hot and cold shivers. 

This was a bad idea, and God he didn't want to stop.

Russia got his pants open and then noticed Gilbert hadn't taken off his boots. He reached down and quickly got them off and his socks before following it with his pants. He looked back up Gilbert's body and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Gilbert grumbled. “Too lazy for underwear. Who was gonna see, yeah?”

Russia shook his head and started to take off his boots. Gilbert sat up quickly and touched his hand. 

“Why don't you leave those on?” He bit his lip and Russia looked up at his expression curiously. He lifted one hand to pull Gilbert's lip free from his teeth, then smiled thinly.

“You like my boots?”

“Can I see them?”

Russia gave him a proud look and twisted his leg onto the bed so Gilbert could admire the leather. He ran his finger along the stamped design, pleased to see he'd been right, they were stamped leather, no pins or clips or darts that might come loose and ruin the design. They were in nearly pristine condition, and as he slid his fingers over the design, he could see why.

“How long before the revolution were you given these?” he asked.

“Two years,” Russia said. His voice was pleased. “You recognized it, did you?”

Gilbert snorted and twisted to lean down and kiss the leather softly. “You think I'm a fucking idiot to not know the Romanov coat of arms? Why did you even keep them?”

“They are nice boots.”

Gilbert couldn't argue that. He twisted and dug his teeth into the side of Russia's calf, through the boot. Russia didn't stop him; he made a small pleased noise, in fact, and Gilbert let himself run his hands over the leather, enjoying the feel of the well-treated, stiff leather on both his fingers and his lips and tongue. 

Russia shook him off after a moment and pressed his booted foot into his shoulder. “Enough. Come up and join me.” 

Gilbert twisted away from his leg and crawled up the bed, pleased to see Russia sitting shirtless with his pants open and his erect cock out. He bit his lip again, unsure where he wanted to look, up to Russia's expectant, almost smug face, or down his chest to the trail of hair leading to his cock. 

When he got close enough, however, Russia grabbed the back of his hair and made the decision for him. He pulled him up to his mouth, bruising his lips with his kiss. Gilbert moaned into his mouth and dug his hands into Russia's hair in return, melting against his chest. Russia kissed him thoroughly before he broke it to speak.

“I should not be surprised you like that,” Russia said. “Did you leave a mark in my boot?”

“Probably,” Gilbert kept his eyes slitted, not sure he wanted to see his face. “You can't wear them out anywhere anyways.”

“Mm, it will be an improvement to them, yes.” Russia ran his hands down Gilbert's back to cup his ass. He kissed him hard again and twisted a hand around to stroke over Gilbert's labia. Russia grunted into his mouth and let him go to twist away for just a moment. Gilbert swore and leaned back with a gasp that turned into an offended curse.

“You are very noisy,” Russia said mildy.

“Yeah. So?” Gilbert smirked at him. “You could make me shut up.”

“Perhaps. I could fuck your mouth. That would do it, would it not?”

“Yeah, it would.” Gilbert swallowed and licked his lips. 

Russia put on the condom and filled his palm with lube. “Yes, it would, but not I think today. You are already very wet.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “I'm always wet.”

Russia snorted. He capped the lube and reached down to force two fingers into Gilbert's body. Gilbert cursed and pressed into his chest hard.

“Fuck,” he moaned. 

“This will help anyways, da?”

“God, just fuck me already.”

Russia made a soft agreeing noise and hooked his fingers inside him. Gilbert's legs went weak and he sank down into his hands. He was not panting, or needy, but God he wanted his cock not his fingers inside him. 

“Fuck you,” Gilbert hissed, “fuck it, please.”

“You are much nicer like this,” Russia murmured by his ear. “It's nice.”

“I could kill you if I wanted,” Gilbert muttered, “but I'm not into necrophilia so just get on with it.”

Russia kissed his cheek and pulled him down onto his cock, slowly, which Gilbert was ready to object to until Russia was further inside him and Gilbert realized just how full he was. He leaned into Russia's shoulder with a happy groan.

“Finally,” he said. “God you're big.”

“Da,” Russia said mildly. “Is that a problem?”

“Only that you're not fucking moving yet.”

Russia snorted. “You are on me. Do you want me to move on top of you?”

Gilbert considered it for a moment, but fuck it he had nothing better to do today. He wrapped his arms around Russia's neck and kissed him hard on the mouth as he began to move. Russia cupped his hips back and moved with him, their bodies tangled together from lips on down. 

It had been much too long since Gilbert had done this for fun. Shivers ran up his spine, over and over as Russia's cock moved inside him. He didn't want to stop kissing him, didn't want to move off him, didn't need to. He dropped one hand to his own body, and he already wasn't very far from orgasm and – oh God, it had been too long. He was happy and focused until focus wasn't really important anymore and all he had to do was just feel.

Gilbert collapsed to Russia's chest, one arm wrapped around his neck as Russia bit off his own curse. Russia dug his nails into Gilbert's hips as he kept going, thrusting hard enough Gilbert's back arched, his body trying and almost orgasming again. Gilbert started to laugh and couldn't stop.

“You...” Russia panted. “That was much faster than I thought you would be.”

“M'easy,” Gilbert said, and giggled again. “And you're new and it's been too long.”

“Ah. Very flattering.”

“You gonna kick me out of your room now?”

“You may sleep here. Are you going to be cold?”

Gilbert nuzzled his neck again, then reached down and made sure the condom stayed on Russia's cock as he slipped off him. He rolled onto his side of the bed and fished around until he found his pants and pulled them back on, seated on the bed because standing and doing it was definitely out of the question. He found his binder and shirt too, but only bothered to drag the shirt over his head. When he turned around, Russia was seated on his side of the bed facing away from him and stretching his arms overhead, the muscles of his back moving smoothly with the motion. 

He was really nice to look at. Gilbert stared at him a bit longer until Russia turned and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you don't have to get back to work.” Gilbert moved stiffly over to the bed and dropped onto it, trying not to collapse flat right away.

“Do you want to be under the blankets?” Russia asked.

“Don't want to be a bother.”

Russia got up and pulled a wool blanket out of the trunk at the end of the bed. He threw it at him on the bed before going to get his little desk to bring over and sit down against the headboard again. Gilbert waited until he was settled before piling up the pillows by his side and twisting around on them until he could get his head up against the side of Russia's chest.

After a moment, Russia placed his arm around him. “Are you still cold?”

“You're a heater,” Gilbert grumbled, although that wasn't it at all. “Better this way.”

Russia blinked at him, then shrugged. “Very well.” 

He left his arm around Gilbert's back, and Gilbert made a pleased noise at it, tucking his legs around him. He was tired all over again, but this time he felt like he'd actually gotten something done today, and going to sleep didn't seem so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> *The East-West Schism between the Catholic and Orthodox church is fascinated and complicated and I do not have the historical backgound to do it justice. Just know that it is a thing and Ivan is totally justified in considering Gilbert an ass for how he talks about it.
> 
> *Olivye is actually really tasty, go look it up if you like potato salads.


End file.
